


Five Times Skye and Coulson Made Fun of Each Other

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson and his hopeless crush on Skye, Coulson is great at emotional support, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Future Fic, Ice Cream, Older Man/Younger Woman, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sex, Skye and Coulson REALLY want to have sex with each other, Skye and her big crush on Coulson, Skye has intimacy issues, Teasing, even when they are already having sex with each other, they are just too alike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2073819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the teasing always leads to... other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Skye and Coulson Made Fun of Each Other

**i.**

They've made it to safety but he is still bleeding. Not much, just a little.

They sit on the floor, waiting for the others, and Skye props herself on her knees and takes the handkerchief out of Coulson's breastpocket. 

He protests when she starts using it to stop the blood dripping from his hand.

"Hey, that's a very expen– _elegant_ handkerchief. You could have used anything else."

Skye snorts.

"I'm doing you a favor. Do you know how lame it is that you carry a handkerchief around? Ugh. At least you don't have your name embroided on it or something like that."

"Do you think this is the time to be making fun of my handkerchiefs?"

"This is _exactly_ the time for that," Skye declares.

She smirks at him. Coolness and a sense of humor, that has got them through many a scrape. Coulson admits that since they have become lovers it's easier being on the field with her – he had not anticipated this and company rulebooks never tell you about it, of course. They have a shorthand and a way of prying each other from the darkest places in their minds that comes really handy when facing mortal danger and hurt and fear. She is teasing him, as a way to calm them both down.

"Why are you carrying that thing around and _using it_ , like a grandad?" she goes on. "You're fifty not eighty-five."

"It comes with the suit. It completes the suit."

"Sometimes I think you like your tailor more than you like me," Skye sighs.

Playing along Coulson gives it a small shrug.

"My tailor doesn't make fun of me while I'm bleeding to death. So. There's that."

Skye finishes tying the cloth around his hand, looking stiff for a moment.

"You're not bleeding to death. Don't get dramatic on me, boss."

"A cut on the palm can be dangerous," he says, now a bit more seriously. "This is my shooting hand."

"This is also your –"

"Don't."

Skye smiles. "A joke. I was trying to get your mind off that. You're pretty ambidextrous about the other thing, anyway."

"Skye..." 

He tries to flex his fingers and finds it painful, which is a good sign, he has feeling in it.

"And I'm very proficent with a gun now," she continues. "If you need to learn again I might be available for some lessons."

"You and me on the shooting range? I think I like that idea."

"I knew you would."

He does. Specially the part where she promises to _teach him_. He gets a thrill picturing Skye standing right behind him in the booth, grabbing his elbow and showing him how to take aim, and surreptitiously pressing her body against his back, sliding her fingers along his arm carefully. Definitely an idea he can get behind.

"I don't need to be injured for that," he says. "We can clear out the shooting range once everyone has gone to bed tonight."

Skye grins. "Is that a deal?"

They have this thing, from the beginning: whenever a mission goes a bit south or they are in a tight spot together they come up with something to do afterwards, a little reward for when they make it out of peril. They make sure they have something to survive for. It could as small as having an intimate dinner together, or as big as when – in the first mission _right after_ the thing happened – Coulson asked that, once they made if to safety, Skye called him by his first name.

It's a good trick. That's the thing about them; there's always something to look forward to, something to live for, even when living on is not that easy.

It's working now. 

Coulson smiles at her. "It's a deal."

 

**ii.**

"It's not funny."

"It is. I've never heard a sound like that come out from a human being."

Skye quirks an eyebrow at him. "And you'd know a lot about that. Wouldn't you?"

He brushes his thumb against the sensitive spot once more and sure enough there it goes, Skye tensing up and – 

"Nnnghtt."

He chuckles.

"You're going to get it," she warns him, hitting her foot against his shin playfully. 

He kicks the hotel sheets away and grabs Skye's hips. "Am I? Please do."

She gives him an incensed look that tells Coulson that indeed he is going to get it. Skye is very strict about keeping her promises and he can't wait.

But right now he is more interested in the curious spot on her navel. He bends down and blows hot air against it.

That noise again.

So bizarre.

"What the hell is that?" he asks, feeling guilty about being so amused. Skye is a bit embarrassed, but still game. It has taken a bit to get comfortable with each other in bed – specially Skye doesn't like getting too close too fast and she doesn't enjoy having everything in the open. Coulson is going to take any opportunity he has to coax her out of her – it's not shyness, that's not it, because he knows exactly where it comes from, the difficult place it comes from, it's an understandable guardedness. She's already done that for him, cut through all his detachment bullshit with joy and companionship, he wants to do this for her. It's not the same, of course, she has better reasons to keep him at arm's length, but he knows she enjoys being more like this, like they are tonight, fooling around, laughing at each other's imperfections, mocking their own arousals.

He kisses the skin near the spot, but not quite there.

"We all have our weird things," she says, smiling a bit.

God knows _he_ does – and Skye teases him about it, so it's only fair. But while being in bed with Skye has made him utter all kinds of ungodly noises he's sure no one as inhuman as this one of hers.

"Yes, but this is –"

"It's just a weird – it's not ticklish. I only found it by accident when I was with Miles."

"Mmm..."

"Stop it," she says, laughing.

Skye is not ticklish, that much is true. They haven't been doing this for so long that he knows every inch of her except he thought he had been thorough. Apparently he can do better.

He's still chuckling softly.

"You're still laughing."

She sounds a bit annoyed now. Coulson decides it's time to stop teasing her – if he can – and apologize.

"I'm sorry. It's an extraordinary noise."

"Just so you know, Miles never made fun of me for it," she tells him, frowning.

Coulson just stares at her navel, goes silent for a moment. When the amusement goes away the wave of lust comes back, lapping at him forcefully. He feels his mouth go dry at the sight of her stomach, her hips, her legs.

Skye mistakes it for something else.

"Do you mind when I talk about Miles? Maybe I should shut up about Miles."

She reaches out to touch his hair, running one comforting hand through it, thinking he needs some reassurance.

Coulson smiles at her. Of all the things she'd have to worry about being in a relationship with Phil Coulson, this is not one of them.

"I'm not a twenty year old boy," he tells Skye. "I won't get jealous if you want to talk about your former lovers. You're with me now. Right?"

"Yeah. I am."

She pulls him into a kiss. Her mouth opens over his, dirty and demanding and reassuring in a different way than before, she is _with him now_ , completely, while she runs her fingernails across his nape. He groans into the kiss, but he was thinking about being _thorough_ just a moment ago, and Skye getting worked up like this is getting in the way. He pulls her away, smiling.

"Let me go. I'm still trying to see if you have more embarrassing noises you haven't told me about."

"You're so –"

She doesn't finish because Coulson closes his mouth over the skin on the ridge of her ribcage, sucking on the spot.

Skye sighs. The hand on his hair keeps pushing his head down. He knows what she wants but not yet. He could be listening to those breathy moans all night, and for the rest of the week if they didn't have to go back to the team first thing tomorrow.

He trails kisses down her leg. There's more muscle here now, the constant training has made her body more toned, it has made it into the body of a SHIELD agent. There are reflexes and a muscle memory in Skye now that Coulson knows in himself. They keep piling ways in which they become similar, not just scars.

He finds a spot right above her knee and on the inside of her leg; he brushes his lips against the skin and Skye rewards him with a high-pitched moan and the way her body moves following his touch.

 _This_ noise Coulson knows, though. Intimately. He has heard it enough times and hopes to hear it many times more in the future. It's a noise of pure and unadulterated joy escaping from the back of Skye's throat. It goes straight to his heart and of course straight to his cock. He embraces the idea that he might be able to spend a lot of time chasing that noise again, if she lets him. The rest of his life, if Skye lets him.

He runs his thumb along the length of her inner thigh.

"God, you are so sensitive," he says, fascinated by her reaction.

"I'm not. Don't make fun of me."

He's not making fun of her but every time his hands touch her Coulson can feel the shiver down her spine as if it was happening to him.

"How do you call this then?" he asks and runs the back of his hand, his knuckles, under her leg. She bites her lower lip but she can't stop the tiny moaning-sounding noise coming directly from her lungs, or the way her body shifts unconsciously half shying away from Coulson's fingers, half seeking the sensation again.

"I'm not sensitive, you unbelievable brute," she says. "I'm not sensitive, it's – _it's you_."

"What?"

Skye pulls at his hair, gently, and gestures for him to come up and look at her face to face. He does, the thrill of sliding his body up the whole length of hers almost distracting him halfway there. He runs his hands, open-palmed along all of Skye, cupping her breasts for a moment and coming to rest his hands on her shoulders, caressing the hollow above her collarbone.

She twists her fingers around the tips of his hair, scrapping carefully with her nails. She has this very serious and solemn look she sometimes gets when they are fucking. Coulson likes that look, it makes him go back between her legs immediately.

"It's just you," Skye says, quietly, then she sighs a bit, her fingers still caressing his scalp. 

He's so touched by that he can't put it into words. But he will _show_ her.

"Then... I'd better make good use of the privilege."

It sounds like he is teasing her but he means it. It is a privilege. For both of them.

"No more making fun of my weird noises."

He shakes his head. 

"But I can't promise that you won't be making some _new_ weird noises in a couple of minutes," he tells her, looking up from above her hip.

Skye rolls her eyes. "Less tell, more _show_."

Coulson gives her a foolish grin before slipping down the bed again, letting his mouth over her body map the road ahead.

 

**iii.**

"I can't believe you just walked into a wall," she tells him.

"I can't believe you _made me_ walk into a wall."

"I was testing if you would do it."

"This is serious."

Even though she can't see his face Coulson is sure she can picture what face he's making perfectly. He's counting on it.

"Mmm? No, sir, it's actually not," she tells him.

Coulson growls through the comms, frustrated at more than not being able to see what's in front of him. Skye has a point, though. This is not an official mission. They are just testing the new comms equipment and the new Golden Retrievers. He's completely in the dark and Skye has to guide him through the corridors of this abandoned building using the Retriever's infrared mapping.

He normally enjoys having Skye on comms when it's just him on the mission, he enjoys having her in his ear all the time – he enjoys it a little too much for what's professional, he admits. Skye knows what her voice does to him and she has no trouble using it to her advantage.

But not today. Because of course at some point Skye got bored of making him turn corners and started making him run into walls.

"Okay, here turn left."

He does, again, on instinct.

Another wall.

"...Skye!"

"You'll just do whatever I say," she says. "You're like Ron Burgundy with the teleprompter."

"..."

"You don't know who –"

"I know who Ron Burgundy is. I'm old, Skye, not incapacitated."

"You're using the age card. You really are pissed at me."

"You walked me into a wall. Twice."

"You walked yourself into the walls."

"I _trusted_ you."

She makes an interesting pause at that.

When the pause goes one he doesn't like it. He feels a bit lonely.

"Skye? Are you there?"

"Five feet ahead and then turn right."

He does, thought a bit more carefully this time but this time he doesn't find himself crashing against a wall.

"That's better," he says. "Remember you have to get me out of here. I have no way of knowing how to get back."

The situation gives Skye a lot of power over him, and Coulson likes the idea. He's also getting bored with today and his head is easily somewhere else.

"Roger that. You can keep going, there's a long hallway ahead of you," she tells him and he walks on without hesitation. "You are really quick to follow my orders."

"You're quick to abuse your position," he says.

He can hear her chuckle.

"So you'll just keep on doing whatever I say. Mmm, interesting. That's going to make things very entertaning for me once I get you alone and on your back."

Coulson lets out a groan.

He knows this is not a serious mission, they are just checking the equipment, but still, it's not the time to reflect on how much he likes when Skye is on top of him, riding him slowly until sore, with her hair falling over his chest and her breasts falling on his hands like a gorgeous gift and – yes, definitely he doesn't want to be thinking about this now.

"Are you sure this is a secure line?"

"Am I sure the rest of the team is not listening in on your sexual prowess? Does that sound like something I'd let happen?"

He leaves a pause there.

"I'm afraid to answer that question."

She laughs.

It is strange, being in the most complete darkness, almost that he has forgotten he can't see anything down here because he's used to it, and then hearing Skye's laughter in his ear and having the sound be the whole stretch of his world right now. It's strange and oddly comforting, like her voice is a safety net and she might have messed with him and made him collide against concrete walls before but he also knows she would never let anything bad happen to him, not really.

"I'm taping this conversation, just in case," she threatens.

"Blackmail purposes?"

"Mmm," she pauses and he can tell she is considering the possibilities. He is too and he really needs to finish this stupid test soon and get them both back to the base. "Careful, you're coming up to a wall. Take two steps and turn right again."

"You're not making me walk into a wall again. Are you? Because then I'm not doing this."

"Come on, Coulson. Don't you trust me?"

And god help him but he does.

 

**iv.**

" _Don't._ "

Coulson puts his hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop laughing. Normally she'd enjoy seeing him like this, but when the laughter is aimed at her current situation it's not that funny.

"Fitz warned you, though," he says, between – well, _giggles_. "Get close enough to the alarm and the spray–"

The stupid blue-green spray.

"I'm not freaking Arsene Lupin – I'm not used to stealing stuff with stealthiness. Despite my bad reputation."

"Well, we recovered the artefact. And the dye is non-toxic. So I'll say the mission was a success."

"Yay," Skye says, half-assedly.

He stares at her face for a moment.

"Now we do know for sure you're an alien."

"Not cool, Director, not cool."

"I'm sorry," he says, still laughing. "But you should see yourself. Come here."

He takes her by the arm and leads her gently to medical.

He makes her look in the mirror.

Okay, she gets how her appearance could be humorous right now. Face all green-blue and bizarre looking, the hair a mess. But still. Coulson shouldn't be so amused by it. If their roles were reversed he wouldn't like it if she laughed, specially in front of the team.

She takes a look at her state, the first calm look. The spray was thorough. She looks at her hands, they're completely blue. They look... like he said, _alien_. She knows Coulson was trying to make light of it, and he wouldn't hurt her feelings on purpose but still, she's bothered by it.

What she _truly_ laments the state of her clothes, though. She knows the denim shirt only cost her like twenty five dollars but she really liked this one.

"I'm sorry," Coulson tells her. "I know how much you liked this shirt."

"That's better," she tells him. "More supportive partner, less laughing your ass at my condition."

"Okay. Sit here. I'll get the cleaner."

Skye sits on the desk while he grabs a bottle of liquid Fitz and Simmons developed in a hurry when they heard Skye had got the product all over her.

"Let me. This thing is amazing," he says, holding the bottle admiringly.

He tries not to get too close. They are in a semi-professional situation, and they really try to keep it legal when on a mission – but Coulson grabbing the gauze and applying the cleaner on her hands first is too intimate, even if she is used to being intimate with him. The way he holds her wrist still between his index and his thumb. And it's not like they haven't done this before; they have had to patch each other up after a day of rough missioning, they've had to clean wounds and apply disinfectant and bandage each other multiple times since Skye became a full time field agent.

And fair enough, those other times, when Coulson has touched her like this, or she had to touch Coulson in the same way, she had been affected as well.

He takes long swipes at it, pressing hard against Skye's skin to get it all out. When he's done with the hands, he moves up to her neck. Skye is glad the stuff didn't go through her clothes. She wouldn't want to shower in the cleaning liquid. Although the idea of Coulson peeling her shirt and jeans off to apply the cleaner has its merits, she has to admit.

"What's going to happen to my hair?"

Coulson lifts his hand and runs his fingers through it.

"FitzSimmons is developing a dissolvent which takes the dye off without damaging your hair."

He puts two fingers against Skye's chin, turning her face the right angle so that he can start applying the liquid to her face. She stops him, grabbing his wrist.

"Maybe you should leave the blue dye on my face, get used to it," she tells him, a bit ungraciously.

Coulson stares at her. They've talked about recent revelations, but they haven't talked about what she really feels about them. She knows he has probably been waiting for the last week or so, not wanting to press. She has been pushing him away, she knows, avoiding too much contact between them, avoiding too much touching because she feels uncomfortable in her skin these days. Coulson noticed it soon and just let her be.

"Skye," he says, gentle but stern. "I assure you. No one cares if you're not human."

"Don't _you_ care?"

Because well, the rest of the team might be super cool with her being an alien, but the rest of the team don't share a bed with her.

Coulson drops his hand to her neck, brushing his fingertips lightly against her collarbone. Her clothes have gone stiff with the spray and he touches the spot just above her shirt.

"I care that it's bothering you," he says, stepping closer to her until her knees are at his sides. Skye makes room for him. "You can tell me if it is. You know that."

She looks away for a moment. Being an 0-8-4 was one thing; having semi-solid confirmation that she is not even of this planet... Skye feels weird just thinking about it, like her body is something strange that could turn against her any moment now. She guesses that's how Coulson feels about his own condition. She knew that, in her mind, but now it's like she can really feel it.

"What if I my skin turns blue?" she asks him.

"You're blue now and I'm still... interested." He presses his body between her legs.

Skye raises her eyebrow.

"What if I sprout a pointy tail?" she asks.

"We'll manage," he whispers, leaning close until his mouth is close to her and Skye can feel his erection pressing against her thigh. She's missed the closeness these past few days. "We'll have to get you out of these clothes first..."

He grabs her jacket by the shoulders and pulls at at, sliding is off her with some difficulty because of the dye.

"Coulson, I'm..." she says, thinking of her blue-green face and her hair and everything else.

"Blue?" he offers. She shrugs. "Told you the spray was non-toxic. As for the other thing..."

He closes his mouth over hers.

Skye guesses he really is interested, he doesn't care, and she is not just thinking about the dye, she is thinking about _the other thing_ , and as much as she has been pushing him away for the last week or so now she holds on to him, tightly, she grabs the jacket of his suit and she pulls him even closer and Coulson opens his mouth and lets her push her tongue inside and makes sure, like he always does, to let her know just how interested he is.

 

**v.**

They don't normally argue over places to have dinner, but they get very few days off to go to town and when that happens both of them try to make it count. So when tonight Coulson refuses to set foot in the restaurant she had picked for them Skye feels all grumpy and offended.

"It just didn't feel right," he says, as if his years of ridiculous foodie obsession had granted him a sixth sense on this things.

"I'm sorry if I'm not the freaking Michelin Guide," Skye says, speeding up the pace along the river. As if she knew where they are going.

Coulson shoves his hands into his jacket, shrugging at their lack of culinary prospects, probably.

"It's too late for most of my usual places, anyway, it's Saturday night."

"I don't want to go to one of your usual places," she says. "Plus neither of us are dressed properly."

"I know places where they let you eat and wear jeans at the same time," Coulson tells her.

"Do you?" she asks.

He thinks about it. "No, I don't think I do."

"Well, see, I'm not a snob like you."

"I prefer places with tablecloth _not_ made of paper," Coulson says. "That doesn't make me a snob."

"No, that's the official, dictionary definition of snob."

She can see him cracking, trying very hard not to smile at that one.

"Excuse me for not wanting food poisoning at the end of my romantic evening," he says.

Skye keeps on walking. Fast. "Ah, excuse _me_ for not having attended any Strawberry Festival in my life."

Coulson hurries alongside her, metaphorically and literally.

"Excuse me for not wanting to have our dates outside a food truck three times in a row," he replies.

"That's not – excuse me if you are too much of a snob to appreciate the great variety of hot dogs out there."

"Again with the snob. A fallacy. And excuse me if I don't want my arteries clogged by junk food. You're welcome to your premature heart attack."

"Well, excuse me if my body is not super old like yours so I don't live in fear a bit more carbohydrates will shut me down, you workout freak."

At that she stops and turns around and puts her hands under his jacket, making her point, rather _appreciatively_ , by running them over his chest and sides.

"Okay," Coulson says, accepting the truce, and relaxing into her gesture. "Where do we go?"

In the end they compromise with dessert, because both of them have a sweet tooth.

They find a humble-looking ice cream joint that stays open until late into the night, in a humble-looking corner, and Coulson forbids her from searching reviews online, _just jump in_ he tells her, putting his hand on the small of her back and pushing her inside the place.

The place itself is deserted, even on a Saturday night, but it looks clean and the flavors look tempting.

They go classic: Coulson orders a strawberry cone – of course, and Skye gets to sneer at the choice – and she orders chocolate. They sit on a table next to the window. The decor and ambiance are more like a retro diner, without so much aspirations, but once they take a first bite of their respective ice creams they both realize the product is pretty great.

"You approve?" Skye asks.

He answers by smirking at her and taking a big bite out of his pink scoop.

Skye doesn't know why they don't do this more often. They both love ice cream and watching Coulson eat it is very – _nice_. Tonight is no exception. She doesn't mean to stare; she is enjoying her own ice cream, thank you very much. They've been together six months, she is not going to jump him in a public place just because he is eating a stupid ice cream with his stupid old man's mouth and those lips that look even pinkier now that they are icy cold. And then he catches a stray drop of ice cream with his index and scoops it into his mouth, licking his finger casually and that's just unfair to her.

He catches Skye looking at him and this time he presses his tongue against the ice in an unmistakeably invinting fashion.

"You're doing the tongue thing again," she points out.

"What tongue thing?" he asks, all feigned innocence.

He is insufferable. She knows what it feels like to have that tongue pressed between her legs, to feel it inside her. Coulson knows she must be thinking about that right now and he gives his cone another slow lick, making Skye squirm in her seat.

"I can do it, too, you know," she declares and proceeds to _show him_.

Coulson leans back on his seat, his expression one of pure challenge.

Skye starts giving her cone long, expressive licks

She swirls her tongue over the tip of her ice cream, parting her lips as if – okay, this is meant to make Coulson bothered but she's the one suffering here because now she wishes they were back at his office –it's Skye's favourite place for this particular event– so she can _really_ show him how good she is with her mouth around –

It sounds ridiculous. Plus she can't make it seem all casual and unprepared like he does. She ends up doing this faux porn routine. She makes a face and just stops what she is doing, thank god.

Skye knows this is the opposite of sexy and she gives up the act, flashing Coulson a pointed, self-deprecating look.

He snorts a laugh.

"I'm sorry," she says, defeated. "I don't know how to make it work."

"Believe me, it's working."

She rolls her eyes. She doesn't need his pity. She can totally be flirty with a mark, on a mission. It's only with Coulson that she has trouble pretending she's something she's not. 

He notices her expression. He grabs him her hand and brings it under the table. Her finger splayed against the crotch of his jeans Skye understands what he meant with " _it's working_ ".

She withdraws her hand and tries not to look smug.

They spend the next few minutes in companionable silence, enjoying their ice creams and giving each other amused, familiar glances. Saturday grows more restless outside and the corner doesn't seem so deserted now. Still, no other costumers come in to disturb their quiet, improvised dinner.

At some point Skye notices there's a bit of ice cream in the corner of her mouth and she raises her hand to wipe it off, but Coulson stops her.

"Let me."

He leans in but she pulls away for a moment, wide-eyed.

"Are you actually going to do the thing?" she asks him, because Phil Coulson and this particular cliche is not a partnership she would have predicted. He keeps surprising her. "Is this actually happening? Because I need to prepare myself."

Coulson doesn't look annoyed. He just looks down for a moment and comes back to her offering a small smile. 

"May I?"

"Very much," Skye says, nodding ethusiastically.

Coulson steadies her with one hand on her shoulder and he brings his mouth to hers. He places a soft kiss on the corner of Skye's mouth, which doesn't get rid of the traces of ice cream but then he parts his lips around the spot and runs the tip of his tongue, slowly, over the sticky bits of skin. He does a fucking thorough job and Skye can't help but lean against him, pressing against the hand clasping her shoulder, pressing her knee against Coulson's leg, so it's not just the feel of his mouth on her. Though his mouth on her would be more than enough.

She still wipes her mouth with a napkin afterwards, and realizes they have both finished their cones.

"I think we should eat ice cream more often," she says.

Coulson nods in agreement, obviously as hot and bothered as she is. "I'm ordering ten thousand pints for the Playground tomorrow."

She laughs.

"It's not so bad skipping dinner, from time to time," she says.

He looks a bit mortified. "Yeah, sorry, about spoiling your plans."

Skye shakes her head.

"I like this plan better."

She hooks her fingers under his leather jacket and pulls him against her. _Finally_ she can taste that mouth of his for herself. She can taste the strawberry and the fact that he drinks too much coffee and she can taste how familiar he has become. Mostly strawberry, which is good, a good combination with the aftertaste of chocolate in her own mouth. She wonders if Coulson likes that or if he has a weird foodie rule against the mix. He moans, loudly, into Skye's mouth so she guesses he doesn't mind.

"I like it, too," he tells her when they break it for a moment to get some air.

It's a good thing they are alone in this ice cream parlor, and everyone else is busy with their fancy restaurants tonight, Skye thinks as she twists her hand further into Coulson's clothes and he pulls her closer for another kiss. That taste again.

It's a good thing they both have a sweet tooth.


End file.
